The manager swallowed hard, lips dry as parchment. My earlier words still echoed in the silent air of his office.
Without wasting a moment, he led me down a narrow velvet-lined hallway to a private chamber. Waiting inside was a woman in her late thirties, sharp-eyed and refined, radiating the unmistakable poise of someone who had served nobility her entire life.
She stood still for a heartbeat, momentarily startled by our abrupt arrival—then the manager whispered something in her ear.
Recognition dawned.
Immediately, the woman dropped to one knee. Placing a hand over her heart and bowing her head, she spoke in a voice smooth as silk.
"My greetings to the Second Sun of the Empire. I beg pardon for not recognizing Your Highness sooner." She lifted her head slightly, her posture still reverent. "I am Benny, chief tailor of Rosa Boutique. The manager has briefed me. Would Your Highness care to browse our signature collection—or do you have a vision in mind?"
Her every word was wrapped in formal grace, her tone humble yet tinged with pride. The old-world etiquette she wielded like a weapon chilled me to the bone.
Gods, had I really gotten this rusty?
After weeks among soldiers, merchants, and literal barbarians, I'd forgotten the sheer absurdity of noble decorum. People in these circles practically choreographed their every blink.
Prince stirred within me, amused. I didn't need to hear his mocking voice to know what he'd say: "See? This is what happens when you live like a vagabond. Embarrassing."
I ignored him.
Straightening my back, I cleared my throat and replied, "Mrs. Benny, I require a dress unlike anything ever seen or dreamed of. It must be something that makes people pause mid-breath. The wedding is tonight, which I know is impossibly short notice—but I want you to make what you can. Let it look like it was stitched by starlight itself. It must radiate elegance, grace… beauty beyond beauty. You are authorized to use the Royal insignia."
Gasps echoed around the room.
No one expected the Empire's Second Prince to come crashing into a boutique and demand a wedding dress as if buying armor for battle.
Arslan, standing nearby with arms folded, watched the chaos unfold with a crooked smirk. Finally, he thought, someone else panicking besides me.
Inside, he was howling with laughter.
"Aha! Look at their faces—these pampered shopkeepers look like they just got conscripted for war."
Meanwhile, Benny's jaw clenched for half a second—just long enough for me to see the panic flash in her eyes—before she regained her composure.
"Your request is… unconventional, my Lord," she said. "But your vision is breathtaking. I don't think I've ever heard a man speak so passionately about his bride's gown." She smiled gently. "If you can provide the measurements, we will begin immediately."
"34-24-34," I answered without hesitation. "That would be her size."
"And yours, Your Highness?"
"You can measure me yourself. And one more thing—my outfit should be formal. Traditional black. Simple, sharp… but it must compliment hers. That's non-negotiable."
Benny bowed again, and her assistants scattered like windblown leaves, already gathering fabrics, sketchbooks, and threads of stardust gold and icy silver.
Satisfied, I turned and left with Arslan trailing behind me—still grinning like a man who had just witnessed divine retribution.
---
Next stop: the finest jeweler in the region—Mireya Atelier.
A towering domed boutique adorned with obsidian glass and a constant flow of water through translucent walls. The place was built to dazzle.
I explained my request quickly but with precision—jewels that spoke of loyalty, love, and legacy. Nothing too gaudy. No gold-cast ego monuments. I wanted grace.
The jeweler understood immediately. He laid out a collection of pieces crafted with moonstone, aquamarine, and blue diamond—each one selected to match the ethereal aura I envisioned for Wellesley's gown.
By the time the final piece was boxed, it was already afternoon.
Wellesley would arrive within the hour.
---
Back at our temporary residence—a grand suite in a secluded hotel—I paced the polished floor, the room prepared, the scent of jasmine oils hanging gently in the air.
Then it happened.
A quiet hum of energy.
I turned toward the center of the room—and saw her.
Bathed in light, Wellesley appeared like a dream walking through sunbeams. Her smile, soft and luminous, struck something deep within me.
"Wellesley," I whispered. "My love… I was dying to see you."
Her eyes widened at the sudden tenderness in my voice—the term of endearment slipping from my lips so freely—but she didn't hesitate. She rushed forward and embraced me, warmth flowing between us like a current.
"I missed you too, Your Highness," she murmured.
I pulled her closer and sat in the velvet armchair, guiding her gently into my lap. She settled against me, her arms looped around my neck, and I buried my face into the crook of her shoulder.
For a while, we didn't speak.
Then I broke the silence. "What's happening in the palace? Is everything alright?"
Wellesley ran her fingers through my hair—slow, calming strokes.
"Yes, for now. The nobles are keeping in line, though barely. And…" she hesitated, "…the First Prince has been trying to reach you. He says he's 'worried about his brother.' But we've been blocking his attempts, as you ordered. Still—I don't know how long we can keep him away. He's a prince, after all. There's only so much authority I have."
I sighed. "He's trying to get ahead of my next move. I expected this."
"Then why aren't you concerned?" she asked, frowning slightly.
I smiled, eyes fixed on hers. "Because he's going to be busy soon."
Wellesley blinked. The cool calculation in my voice was unnerving—so unlike the Christopher she knew. Once cold, silent, detached… I now spoke with a softness that hinted at affection, and a dangerous calm that hinted at schemes beneath.
"What about the nobles?" I asked. "Are they holding still or trying to fly behind my back?"
She kissed my forehead. "So far, still. But they're waiting. Watching. You know how this game works."
Her voice was soft and sure, her presence soothing like a lullaby. My eyelids began to flutter shut. Sleep tugged at me, but I fought it. I couldn't miss this moment. Not yet.
Not before the surprise.
Not before the stars I stitched for her came to life.